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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020443">Andrea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensorcel/pseuds/ensorcel'>ensorcel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Devil Wears Prada (2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Death, F/F, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:10:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensorcel/pseuds/ensorcel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She was coming back in two weeks. Miranda can't stop dreaming of Andrea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miranda Priestly &amp; Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Andrea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Twentieth Century Fox and Laura Weisberger. Any characters recognized don't belong to me.</p>
<p>Great thanks to zigostia for saving this story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>after.</p>
<p>
  <span>It’d been nearly two years. Miranda thought she was okay again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until she caught a whiff of old newspaper or caught her assistant typing too loudly. Her chest would tighten and her hands would tremble and Miranda, Miranda knew that two years simply wasn’t enough. She didn’t know when would be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea always gave too much. Grew up with beautiful prose and lovely words and the warmest heart. Would take her warmth out of her pocket and blow it into the world, because Andrea always believed that warmth given was warmth spread and warmth treasured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda shouldn’t have been surprised that Andrea, her dear, darling, Andrea always gave too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Much too young. Much too early. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like a breeze in the trees. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>beginning. </p>
<p>
  <span>At the start, she was insignificant. An assistant, another mindless face in the busy, busy, day of Miranda’s life. Someone who would almost always fail their job. Another cog in the wheel, she supposed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, her entrance was interesting. There was always something that intrigued Miranda about the bold, reckless girl with an impressive resume and strong words. The girl that demanded her a job. (Miranda had no idea what happened to that woman, but she also found that she didn’t really care enough.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paris had changed things. Well. Some things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda wasn’t blind. Andrea was a beautiful woman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A very beautiful, very </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span> woman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t surprised when Andrea left. (That was a lie. Miranda was surprised.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Left without looking back in expensive heels and a strong whiff of perfume. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She would be lying if she said that her breath hadn’t been stuck in her throat that day. And Miranda was very, very good at lying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>the beginning. again. </p>
<p>
  <span>The breeze was strong and the wind was warm and the water was a glittering blue and they were in the south of France and Miranda was a little tipsy and Andrea was even more so. It’d been a couple of years—how many, Miranda couldn’t tell you—since Andrea had worked at Runway and Miranda had almost forgotten the doe-eyed and smart girl—no, woman, Andrea had certainly grown—that used to be her assistant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was writing for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>New York Times</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Miranda wasn’t quite sure why she was in the south of fucking France of all places, but after all these years, she’d learnt that there were some things to question and others to leave alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea looked lovely with a pastel scarf around her neck with a loose blazer and bright eyes. Miranda took another sip of her drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how have you been these years?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea smiled. Miranda was reminded that yes, Andrea was a very attractive woman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, there,” she said, waving a hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clearly,” Miranda replied, watching as Andrea rearranged her jacket. She tried to ignore the fact that she had a meeting in fifteen minutes. “Come with me to dinner,” she found herself saying. Andrea’s head snapped up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My assistant will send you the details,” she said succinctly, quickly throwing some bills on the table to pay for their drinks. Andrea beamed. She rivalled the afternoon sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda felt lighter than she had in years.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, it’s good to see you,” Andrea said, nearly wolfing down her food. Miranda had to force herself not to laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?” she heard herself ask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea looked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she said, reaching across the table and grabbing Miranda’s hand. It was very warm. Warmer than Miranda had ever been. “It is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda was silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, you’re the only assistant who’s walked out on me like that,” Miranda quipped, smiling slightly while she took a sip of her drink. “I should’ve seen that one coming.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea laughed. Miranda noticed the soft curve of her neck and how her hair fell down around it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised it’s taken this long for you to bring it up,” Andrea said. “Honestly, I’m surprised you remembered me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re difficult to forget.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could say the same about you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea squeezed her hand. Miranda was suddenly very, very glad that she was no longer married. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re picking up this tab, by the way, right?” Andrea chuckled, taking another bite of her salad. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a journalist,” she joked. Miranda gave a small laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” she replied. “It shows,” she added, looking critically at Andrea’s outfit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! I’ve improved,” she countered. Miranda raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Barely.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea’s laugh was all she remembered on the car ride back to her hotel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea invited Miranda to the beaches along the sea and all she could hear were the roaring waves and Andrea’s tinkling laughter. Her skin looked lovely in the summer sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to burn,” she chided, as Andrea ran into the ocean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you aren’t?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda sniffed. “No, because I’m wearing more sunscreen that you have in your entire life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea ran back to her, grabbing her hand, pulling her out of the lounge chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Andrea!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The water isn’t that cold, come on!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Andrea, I—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nearly pushed Miranda into the waves, laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to pay for that!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try me—I never thought I’d see La Priestly swimming,” Andrea joked, splashing her with water. Miranda grinned and whipped one back. The sun was bright and the day was clear and they were in the south of France and Andrea was looking at her with a look on her face and Miranda had never felt freer in her life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea grabbed her arm. Her grip was warm despite the cool water. She was soaked head to toe and Miranda thought she was the most beautiful person in the world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to kiss you,” Andrea whispered, staring her directly in the eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” was all Miranda could say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Andrea’s lips were on hers and her hand was in Andrea’s hair and Andrea was pulling her closer and she tasted of salt water and the strawberries they had earlier mixed with a bit of sunscreen and Miranda, Miranda, had never felt warmer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me take you back,” Andrea whispered against her mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay.” Miranda kissed her again. “You’re lovely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea blushed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When do you head back?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next week,” Andrea dried her hair with a towel, grabbing a bottle of water from Miranda’s mini fridge in the hotel room. She flopped herself back onto the bed, chugging the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back with me,” Miranda heard herself say. Andrea looked up at her suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are—are you sure?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda nodded. She didn’t think she’d ever been surer of anything. “I’ll have my assistant change your flight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea nodded. She grabbed Miranda’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I might fuck this up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t,” was all Miranda had to say. Andrea laughed, bringing out her smile lines. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Andrea said, elbowing her. Miranda rolled her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You won’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miranda never clapped harder than when Andrea was called onto the stage to accept her award from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Times</span>
  </em>
  <span> on her work that year. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Andrea whispered against her shoulder. A warmth bubbled in her chest. “So beautiful,” she whispered, as she trailed kisses down Miranda’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Andrea—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I never said it back,” Miranda whispered as Andrea was packing her bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Miranda said. Andrea didn’t even look up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be back in two weeks.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t anyone tell that I’m currently in a meeting? Why doesn’t anyone know their job around here—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda, it’s Andrea,” Nigel said, looking at her. Miranda’s head snapped up. They immediately left the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Her base, where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Times</span>
  </em>
  <span> reporters were staying,” Nigel began. Miranda’s hands were shaking. Her heart was bursting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I never said it back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “There was a bomb just around an hour ago. Miranda, I—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything stopped. Things in books and movies were always described as if the world had paused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world had paused. Miranda’s voice was stuck in her throat. Her hands were shaking. Oh God, they wouldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do, do we—” she faltered. Was this how she sounded? “Do we know anything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not yet,” Nigel said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get me her editor, right now,” Miranda snarled. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If she heard the words, “Sorry, we don’t know anything further at the moment,” again, Miranda was going to burst a blood vessel. She was going to fire someone. Or burn down the building. Or fly her goddamn self to Palestine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t stop moving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no alternative option. Andrea was coming back in two weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was coming back in two weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I never said it back. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda, I’m so sorry, Andrea died just around twenty minutes ago in transport.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a buzzing in her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was coming back in two weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dreamt of Andrea that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>FIN. </strong>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>“Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” —Daphne Du Maurier, </span>
    <em>
      <span>Rebecca</span>
    </em>
    
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was sadder than I'd expected it to be. (JK, I walked into it knowing that Andy would die!) Hopefully, I didn't break your heart too much and let me know what you thought! Also, if you google the plot to the novel <i>Rebecca</i>, or just read it, it's brilliant, you'll see the parallels ;) </p>
<p>I know it's been a while since I've posted—life has gotten incredibly busy, but I hope to get new works to you soon! Kudos and comments always help a writer out :)</p>
<p>If you enjoyed this story, please consider checking out <a href="https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/">this website</a> to support #blacklivesmatter. Every little bit counts!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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